The Vanished Legacy
It was a dawn lightly veiled in mist.
A chill breeze swept across the plaza, rustling the blades of grass.
“Hoo.”
Stepping outside, Arteon drew in the cool morning air and looked out over the plaza in front of the mansion.
The rather intense events of the previous day had been completely cleaned up, leaving not even a trace. The earthen ground had been packed firm again, and the torn, scattered corpses of their enemies had vanished—as if the fierce battle the day before had been nothing more than a dream.
But just then—
“Hwaaaaaah!”
A loud yawn, accompanied by a rumbling stomach, rang out.
It was Kairon.
As if to prove that yesterday’s events had been no dream, bandages were wrapped all over his body. One cheek was swollen purple, and the opposite eye was half-shut.
Kairon looked at Arteon and said, “You must be wiped out after pushing yourself yesterday. Getting up at this hour?”
The tone carried a hint of mockery, yet he seemed genuinely surprised.
Arteon paid it little mind and instead turned the question back on him. “You’re the one who nearly died. Why are you up at a time like this? Wouldn’t it be better to sleep a little longer?”
“Nearly died, my ass… I won that pretty lightly. Looks like you didn’t see it properly.”
Kairon grumbled as he lightly cracked his knuckles and twisted his waist, loosening up. Each movement made his wounds throb, but he gave no sign of it, simply repeating slow, steady breaths.
“Ugh… hoo… Instead of swinging a sword with these injuries, I figured I’d just do some light running. If the body stiffens up at times like this, you suffer more later.”
Kairon lightly kneaded his stiff shoulders as he added the remark.
Arteon asked with genuine interest, “Is there a good course for running?”
“Oh-ho?”
The corner of Kairon’s mouth curled up slightly.
“It’s not a course some greenhorn can keep up with. Ah, and for the record—absolutely no using mana while we run.”
His tone was light, but a subtle provocation ran through it.
Arteon simply nodded. “Obviously.”
In that instant Kairon faltered. Arteon’s reply had come so naturally that it felt as if he had somehow lost the upper hand in presence.
Kairon snorted and jerked his chin. “Fine. Follow me. If you start lagging and it gets too hard, just say so.”
Kairon strode off toward the mountain path. His expression had already grown rather serious. He was the one who ran this course without fail every single day.
I can’t lose.
Before long the two of them disappeared up the mountain trail.
“…….”
At a second-floor window of the mansion, Rionhart watched their figures through the half-open pane. Coldly speaking, the gap between them was almost embarrassing to compare—
“But for that Kairon brat, it should make for a pretty good stimulus.”
A faint smile touched Rionhart’s lips at the thought of his disciple’s future growth.
At the same time, however—
“…….”
In his mind he was replaying Arteon’s battle from the day before over and over again.
Before long the soft morning sunlight painted the walls of the mansion and spilled in through the windows.
Having returned from a thoroughly invigorating run with Kairon, Arteon washed clean and walked the corridor.
“This way, sir.”
Guided by a maid, Arteon entered the dining hall and looked at the food laid out on the table. Colorful dishes were arranged in splendid array, and steam still rose warmly from several of the bowls.
This much care first thing in the morning…
…A sight hard to imagine back in the North.
Rionhart and Kairon were already seated and eating as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“What are you standing around for? Sit.”
Kairon grumbled at Arteon, still unwilling to admit his defeat at dawn. His half-swollen face throbbed with every bite, yet he shoveled food into his mouth under the simple conviction that one had to eat to live.
Rionhart, by contrast, focused on his meal with his usual plain expression, eating slowly.
Rionhart lifted his head. “Sit and eat. It’s morning.”
“……Yes.”
Arteon took his seat and wordlessly picked up a spoon. A stew rich with meat, a salad of fresh vegetables dressed with sauce, and bread baked from fine wheat—just looking at it stirred the appetite.
Compared to the sour soup and hard bread of the North, the difference was enough to bring tears to one’s eyes…
Arteon concentrated on his meal in silence.
The moment he finished and set down his utensils, Rionhart rose from his seat.
“Come with me a moment.”
“Yes.”
Though questions rose in his mind, Arteon answered without complaint and followed.
The place Rionhart led him to was a broad training ground. A peculiar tension hung in the cold air and settled over Arteon’s shoulders. Rionhart looked at him.
“There’s something I’d like to check lightly. Could you show me what you did yesterday?”
“What I did yesterday…?”
Arteon blinked once.
Rionhart continued, “No need to feel any great burden. Simply…”
He pointed toward the center of the training ground. “Think of it as fighting an opponent of roughly your own level right there, and fight for me.”
Ordinarily he would never have made such a request. That Rionhart was saying this now meant only one thing: he understood why Arteon had come to him, and he intended to accept that purpose.
He would never make such a demand of someone he had no intention of helping.
Arteon understood as much. He drew Iglis from his waist.
“This area might end up a mess… is that all right?”
Arteon glanced around as he asked. The corner of Rionhart’s mouth lifted slightly.
“You’ll have sensed it already, but a magic circle is in place that can withstand a certain degree of impact. I can’t tell you to go completely wild, but a fair amount should be fine.”
At those words Arteon’s expression shifted by the barest fraction—the calm of a man about to draw out something he had kept hidden.
And then—
Kuuung!
From beneath Arteon’s feet a powerful presence erupted, strong enough to warp the air itself.
Rionhart watched with narrowed eyes. Outwardly he remained composed, yet the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end with a cold prickle.
Arteon took a step forward.
Then he created a virtual enemy before his eyes.
Someone of roughly my own level…
If he had his way he would have summoned the image of Krelmuk, whom he had fought before—
But that would force me to overdo it…
He would have to settle for a suitable opponent.
Having formed the imaginary foe, Arteon charged toward it at high speed.
Suaaaaaak!
A thrust so sharp it created the illusion that the empty air itself had been split. The combat movements unfolding before them were so vivid it was impossible to believe he was merely fighting a phantom.
Hwiik! Buung! Sseeeek!
Arteon twisted his body slightly, stepped back, then swung his spear in a rapid arc, recovered it in the same motion, and thrust again. Though he moved alone, the enemy’s attacks were so clear in his mind that they seemed visible to the naked eye.
“……Remarkable.”
Balanced footwork. Attacks that were concise yet full of power. Above all, he fully exploited the spear’s reach while showing not the slightest awkwardness when the fight closed in.
As Arteon’s imagined battle continued, Rionhart’s eyebrows rose with deliberate slowness.
“This is…”
He drew a shallow breath without realizing it.
This style, and the seamless continuity of the spear arts. Above all, this absolute command of space that simply ignored the usual advantages and disadvantages of distance.
An ancient legacy that even he could only dimly recall was growing steadily clearer—the martial prowess of the one who had once dominated the North, now forgotten by most.
Chwaak!
As the spear swept upward in a great diagonal arc from below, it felt as though a golden line trailed in its wake. Lowering his stance, Arteon swung, spun his body to recover the spear, and prepared to thrust once more—
“Enough. That will do.”
Rionhart raised a hand.
Arteon immediately released his stance and drew a deep breath.
“Hoo…”
Even though he had only fought an imaginary opponent, the foe’s strength had been equal to his own, and sweat poured freely down his body.
Rionhart regarded Arteon in silence for a moment. A complex light settled over his features.
When Arteon approached, Rionhart spoke.
“Before we get to the main point… there is one thing I would like to ask.”
“Please ask freely.”
At Arteon’s words Rionhart’s voice dropped a fraction lower.
“Are you, by any chance… from the North?”
“…….”
Arteon’s brow twitched for an instant.
Had he ever told this man where he came from?
Could it be… that he had deduced it just from the movements a moment ago?
Arteon’s voice trembled ever so slightly. “……Have I ever mentioned that to you?”
A strangely uneasy feeling pressed down on his chest.
Then a blade-sharp question left Rionhart’s lips.
“Do you know the name Vargas?”
Kuuung.
For a moment it felt as though his heart had plummeted. Arteon’s fingertips trembled with the faintest quiver. A silence fell as if breath itself had stopped—and that silence alone was answer enough.
Rionhart spoke. “To think I would see his vanished legacy once more…”
He continued at once. “Come with me. There is something I wish to show you.”
At those words Arteon nodded and followed.
The air in the capital was far heavier than usual.
Inside the mansion a faint scent of blood hung in chaotic layers, and even the footsteps of the patrolling soldiers were stiff with tension.
“……That mad bastard.”
His voice cracked of its own accord. In that moment there was no trace of the composed First Prince he was known to be.
Velacrod.
Sedrian’s mind was filled with the name of his foolish younger brother. The atrocities the man had committed had long since crossed every line.
Some of the nobles who had pledged themselves to Sedrian had been murdered; others had been seized and imprisoned. It was an open purge of his own faction.
Just then Svein hurried inside.
“Your Highness.”
Svein steadied his breathing and continued his report. “Count Marolin managed to escape, fortunately… but the damage is too great for an immediate counterattack.”
Sedrian clenched his teeth hard. “That idiotic Velacrod. How could he commit such a reckless act?”
Yet for all its recklessness, the blow it had dealt Sedrian was real. One wrong move and the balance of power that had been tilting in his favor could reverse completely.
Sedrian’s expression twisted. “What of Lord Rionhart? Is he unharmed?”
Svein’s eyes wavered for a moment. That alone was enough to show the situation was grim.
“……About that… it seems the Lacosta Knights have moved.”
The color slowly drained from Sedrian’s face. “The Lacosta Knights…?”
The Lacosta Knights were the personal order of Count Edrian Valenruuk. Sworn to the Second Prince, they were infamous for never shying from dirty work. They wore the name of knights, yet they had abandoned chivalry long ago. Their skill, however, was something no one could casually dismiss. Their commander, Ziorkan, had already reached the realm of aura users.
Sedrian slowly curled his fingers. “Even Lord Rionhart… does not have the strength to stop them.”
Deep concern colored his voice. If Rionhart fell, the educational system connected to him, the supply of talent, even the balance within the military would all be shaken at once. And that chaos would become the foundation for turning the tide of the succession struggle in the Second Prince’s favor.
Sedrian knew it all too well.
“……Hurry, Sir Svein. We must not lose him, no matter what.”
Sedrian’s voice was earnest. The moment they lost that man, this struggle for the throne would plunge into chaos.
Svein bowed his head deeply. “The soldiers have already been dispatched. We can only hope they arrive in time.”
In his heart he wished to go himself, yet he could not guarantee what might befall Sedrian if he left his side. Sedrian understood that as well.
“……I suppose I must pray that my prayers reach the gods.”
He could only murmur the words with a long sigh.